


Thighs

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-25
Updated: 2006-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:38:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney hadn't meant for it to become an obsession, and chances were it would never have become one if not for the fact that John Sheppard liked to sleep like –</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thighs

Rodney hadn't meant for it to become an obsession, and chances were it would never have become one if not for the fact that John Sheppard liked to sleep like –

\- like _that_.

Rodney paused in the doorway to the bathroom, greedily eyeing the picture Sheppard made, lax and sated, sprawled on his back in the middle of Rodney's bed, one leg steepled, an arm thrown over his eyes. Sheppard sighed happily - at least Rodney figured it was happiness making his breathing catch and the corner of his mouth twitch into a lazy smile, causing him to shiver as a after-shock rippled, quicksilver fast over his skin.

His own breath uneven, Rodney wet his lips - padded back across the room to press a knee into the mattress, stretch out a hand and drag his thumb over the curve of Sheppard's proffered thigh.

". . . _oh_ ," Sheppard murmured, sounding half surprised, half pleased.

So Rodney did it again.

There was something utterly bewitching about Sheppard's thighs. The long, lean pull of muscle had caused Rodney untold moments of discomfort long before he'd ended up in Sheppard's bed. Each and every time Sheppard crouched, leaned, twisted his body to fire his gun, strode across whatever terrain waited for them on the other side of the wormhole - each movement pulled the fabric of his BDUs tight across his legs, defined the play of strength there, made Rodney's mouth go dry and other parts of his body perk up in ways that were downright humiliating.

And the holsters – dear God, the fucking holsters . . .

Sheppard's thighs mesmerized him. Rodney couldn't explain it, wasn't sure he needed to - this constant need to touch just as he was doing now, fingers splayed over sensitive skin, thumb grazing spots still damp with sweat. John made a soft, pleased noise at the back of his throat and Rodney replaced touch with taste, setting his lips gently just below the crease of John's torso, tongue teasing skin in a delicate, frustrating lick.

"Jesus, Rodney," Sheppard murmured, letting his hand arm fall back from his face onto the pillow.

Rodney smiled, nipped, hooked a hand behind John's knee and caressed the underside of his thigh. Sheppard squirmed, restless, as Rodney dragged teeth and tongue over pale, trembling skin, as he pressed open-mouthed kisses higher and higher, leaving soft red marks behind.

" _Rodneeey_ . . . " Sheppard whined.

And this was the best part of all, sliding up over Sheppard's body, pressing into the cradle of his hips. Sheppard steepled his other leg, pulled his thighs in close against Rodney's sides, held him still and certain. Rodney shivered, eyes fluttering closed as he rocked as best he could, opening them again just long enough to find John's mouth, to kiss him soundly – wet and hot – and groan at the strength pitted against him, trapping him soundly between John's legs.

John pulled back, breathless. "You have a fetish, you know that?" he asked, hoarse.

"Mmmmm," Rodney murmured, hand skimming up John's leg to touch the barest curve of his ass. "Complaining?"

"God, no," John murmured fervently, and yanked Rodney back down to kiss him again, one leg curled over Rodney's back to pin him in place, thigh high and tight against Rodney's side.


End file.
